


Something Flawed

by artaline



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Children, Complex Sarai, Crudeness, Dealing with death of a loved one, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Dyslexic Soren, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parenting on Autopilot, Politics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Sarai is Dead, Swearing, Worldbuilding, background politics, happens 8 years before the show, hopefully a lighthearted au, implied dark magic wine, reminiscences about own underage sexuality, they talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artaline/pseuds/artaline
Summary: Sometimes a creative solution is marrying your best friend for political reasons





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks for editing and concrit to my best friend and partner [GracefulArchitect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulArchitect/profile) <3

“That’s enough!” Harrow growled as he slammed the table, sending the tiny figurines rolling across the map. “The meeting is over.” 

“But Your Highness!..” Saleem tried to protest but Harrow was already halfway across the throne room. He’s had enough of this nonsense for today.

He half expected Viren to follow him, trying to change his mind as usual on those rare occasions when Harrow’s temper flared during the council meetings. But apparently not today. To Harrow’s surprise Viren was unusually quiet on the matter.

The year of mourning for Sarai has passed, and just a month ago they opened the memorial. Viren oversaw the sculptor’s work, and so it felt like a punch in the gut for Harrow to see the statue, so very lifelike and yet as cold and dead as any piece of marble.

And then, not a week after the anniversary, someone put “The Matter of Royal Consort” on the agenda. Harrow wasn’t sure who or why brought it up, but the council which usually wasn’t able to agree on anything, suddenly came together as a single front, urging Harrow to find a new wife. They argued that he needed more heirs, that the country could use a cause to celebrate, that it could be an opportunity to cement the political alliance with the other countries of the Pentarchy. The arguments weren’t new - he learned them all the first time around, only this time he didn’t care. The official year of mourning might have been over, and he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in self pity, but that didn’t diminish the pain he felt in his heart every morning waking up in an empty bed.

***

Harrow found himself on the balcony, watching Pip soaring in the sky above the palace. He always envied the bird’s freedom, and was forever grateful for that Pip exercised that freedom by staying by his side and demanding more treats.

The familiar clang of the metal staff on the stone floor approached slowly. Harrow knew when necessary Viren could make himself almost eerily quiet, so he clearly chose to announce his presence to Harrow.

“It’s a nice day today.”

“Surely you didn’t come here to discuss the weather, Viren.”

“I could, if that would be Your Highness’ wish - this cloud, for example, kind of looks like a wolf’s intestine.”

“Please, spare me the details, and say what you came here to say.”

Viren took a deep breath.

“Harrow, I’m… the council does have a point, but I’m not here to convince you.”

Harrow gave him a skeptical look.

“What do you want, earthblood scum? And what did you do to my dear friend Viren?” Harrow said, watching as the softest shade of pink crept its way across Viren’s face.

“No, really. I just want to check that you’re… okay,” Viren said meekly.

“Okay?” Harrow raised a brow.

“Harrow, please. Work with me here.”

“Viren, there’s no point. Nothing can bring her back. Not even you.”

That was a low point in Harrow’s mourning. About a month after the funeral Harrow came to Viren and asked and shouted and begged for him to find some ritual to bring Sarai back. But no amount of pleading worked. Eventually, Harrow snarled that he was going to go to the library to look and perform the ritual himself if he had to. But Viren’s quiet  _ Do you really think I haven’t searched for one? _ finally snapped him out of it. He spent that evening crying into Viren’s ornate capelet and then just sitting there in a half embrace, looking at the flames in the hearth and listening to Viren talk softly about how different substances could create different kinds of magical fire.

Harrow took a deep breath. “I don’t want a new wife. Sarai was one of a kind. Marriage would be a disservice to her memory, and to any poor woman whom I might subject to this. I just don’t understand  why the council won't drop the issue .”

"Well, Opeli wants to use the ceremony as a leverage to get the funding for the chapel renovations - she's been requesting it for the past three months; Saleem sees it as an opportunity to improve our relations with Neolandia and expand trade; while it's going to be a pain for Lothakra to handle the security, it would be a good reason to boost the recruitment to the Royal Guard; and Mahndler has five unmarried daughters of the fitting age."

Harrow chuckled. "That explains it," he turned towards the sky. Surely, most clouds kind of look like intestines? "And what do you want, Viren?"

"I, uh-" Viren frowned, considering. "I guess I just want to see you to smile again."

They fell quiet. Autumn sky was slowly starting to dress for the night, cerulean fading into dusty pinks.

"They won't let go of their little projects, would they?" Harrow asked.

"Quite unlikely," Viren said. 

"Remind me why did I ever think being a benevolent king was a good idea? A tyrant surely doesn’t have to tolerate such insolence."

"It's not too late to change, you know," Viren said, looking amused.

"So what would you advise then? Apart from mass beheading?"

"If you are quite certain you won't consider looking for a new wife..."

"I am."

"... then, were I in your place, I would try to erode their reasons for supporting it - give Opeli her chapel funds, look into Saleem's trade agreements-"

"Hmm, butter them up," Harrow said, "Clever. But, they might just use it as a leverage for new demands."

"My King, the only permanent solution here is for you to remarry."

"Permanence, ever the killjoy,” Harrow sighed. “Perhaps, I should just marry you, Viren," he said, his expression changing mid-sentence.

"My king, ever the joker," Viren said rolling his eyes.

"No, wait-" Harrow frowned. "I mean I did say it as a joke, but it could work!" The thought wasn’t something he considered before, but now that he did, Harrow found it hard to stop thinking about it.

"Harrow-"

"I mean it! We've known each other for ages, so you are like a family already. I trust you with my life, you have Soren and Claudia, and they are already as close as it could get to being my children, with me knowing them since birth. And we get the council off of my back! That's one  _ creative solution _ and you know it."

"Harrow, you're being rash. Sure, it would solve the immediate problem, but you need to think ahead. You might feel different tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Harrow didn't feel different tomorrow. Nor a week after. He managed to buy some time with the council by saying he had a candidate in mind, but they still brought it up each meeting.

For once in a long while Harrow felt like he was making the right call, and it frustrated him to see that Viren didn’t share his enthusiasm. Sure, it was unconventional, but Viren must have seen the benefit of it. And yet he kept coming up with reasons why it was a bad idea with a manic passion.

Somehow every private conversation they had now ended with them arguing, Viren presenting complications for Harrow to refute. It was not an unusual dynamic between them, but  it never before it felt quite this personal.

And while some of Viren’s concerns were understandable, Harrow felt almost as if there was some other underlying cause behind it, not that he could see it. At times, when the arguments got heated, Harrow could almost sense the shadow of a real reason behind Viren's hesitation surfacing in his expression, only to disappear behind the next excuse. It was maddening, but sometimes the most elusive prey was the most satisfying, and so the game went on.

***

As the night crept onto the castle, Harrow found himself at Viren's office, a wicker basket in hand. The knock on the heavy oak door reverberated through the hall.

"Viren, it's me!" Harrow shouted, hoping the sound would carry and that he won't have to stand there in the middle of the corridor all night. The Mage tower was one of the oldest in the castle, and it often made Harrow uneasy as a kid. The feeling faded over the years but never went away completely.

Viren opened the door a crack.

“Your Highness, if you came to continue our morning conversation, I must ask to do it some other day,” Viren said stiffly. Their morning argument ended with both of them fuming, each hammering their point, but unable to sway the other.

“What if I brought a peace offering?” Harrow said, extracting a dusty bottle of red from the basket. It was a time for a change of tactics. All is fair in war and obsessive desire to to marry your best friend.

***

Having laid out the contents of the wicker basket on the table, they sat in front of the fireplace, glasses in hand.

“When was the last time we did this?” Harrow mused, “Seems like it’s been a while.”

“The night before your wedding,” Viren said, taking a sip from his glass.

“Ah,” Harrow couldn’t help but feel guilty at the notion, but it was true. Ever since he met Sarai, it felt natural to spend time with her, often selfishly at the expense of his other friendships and duties. The wedding just let him do so without any restraint. And now Sarai was gone.

“An awkward conversation topic?” Viren inquired.

“To say the least.”

“Any others we should power through to get to the good stuff?”

Harrow thought about it. “I couldn’t find the cook, so I had to steal food from my own palace kitchens like a thief; I only managed to find Duren wine from the last year; and there is a piece of spider web stuck in your hair, which I can’t stop staring at.”

“Well, it is good wine,” said Viren, running a hand through his hair to remove the spider web.

The wine was indeed pleasant, sweet and strong. Harrow could already feel the gentle warmth spreading from his stomach and filling his head with a pleasant buzz.

“No comment about the stolen goods?” Harrow said, raising his eyebrow.

“I’m sure Lady Justice will bend you over her knee and reprimand you herself in your dreams.”

“There’s no need to be crude, Viren.”

“Lady Propriety and Lady Benefit are welcome to reprimand me anytime, if they feel I slighted them.” 

“Both at once? You’re being overconfident.”

“I never said I’d protest it,” Viren said, smiling softly. Red wine turned his lips a soft shade of lilac, contrasting against the paleness of Viren’s skin.

“To be fair,” Harrow said, “Lady Benefit is much more likely to make you her champion.”

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” Viren said, his expression turning sour, “But I’m not so sure about that.” 

“What makes you say that? The Duren-”

“Harrow, I-” Viren interrupted him, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

They fell quiet.

“I just think that if it wasn’t for you, a hundred thousand people would have died,” Harrow said finally, “And if saving all these lives was not beneficial, then I don’t know what is.”

Viren drew a shaky breath and took a swig from his glass. “An action can always have unintended consequences. Like the butterfly.”

“What butterfly?” Harrow said, frowning.

“A small one? You’ve probably heard the tale, It flaps its wings and a hurricane starts.”

“A metaphorical butterfly?”

Viren hesitated. “Yes,” he said.

“Surely by that logic a hurricane is going to be the responsibility of every butterfly, and bird, and even fart around.”

In the most undignified manner, Viren snorted. “There’s no need to be crude, Harrow.”

“I’m already on Lady Justice’s naughty list, I have nothing left to lose.”

Harrow refilled their glasses and turned towards Viren, cheering.

“For the benefit of the farts!”

Viren shook his head, smiling. “For the gift of clear conscience.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you think... it’s clear?” Viren whispered from the darkness right in front of him.

They were huddled close in a dark niche, covered by a heavy gobelin, both breathing hard from all the running.

“I’m not sure,” Harrow said, trying to peer into the darkness of the corridor through the gap on the side.

They had ran out of wine. Instead of calling it a day, they decided to sneak into the kitchen and get some more. Instead of being reasonable adults about it, they panicked and bolted when they heard the heavy steps and angry swearing of the palace cook. By some miracle, they managed to get far enough away without being caught and reprimanded for their antics.

The niche was dusty and way too small for the two of them. Harrow couldn’t see much, but he could feel the warmth radiating off of Viren, and the way he heavily propped himself against the wall. The proximity and the rush of danger (even if for a fairly silly reason) was familiar.

“How is your leg?” Harrow asked.

He was one of the few people who had seen the angry red scars snaking down Viren’s leg. The same lightning strike which stole away Sarai could have robbed Harrow of his other closest friend as well, if it wasn’t for the impractical padded armor Viren insisted was more conductive for magic. And, apparently, less conductive to lightning than steel. 

“Could be better, but I’ll live.” Viren replied.

Finally, they concluded that the coast was clear and decided to leave their strategic position.

"Ow, fff-" Viren hissed, as Harrow caught him stumbling out into the corridor.

"You okay?" Harrow asked, frowning.

"Yes, just my leg went numb." Viren said quietly.

He stood close, leaning on Harrow, clearly tense, trying to shake some feeling into unruly limb. Despite the rich layer of dust which now covered them both, Harrow could smell the familiar faint notes of smoke and herbs on Viren, but eerie now that Harrow became aware of it.

"Your room or mine?" Harrow asked, savoring the dark blush spreading on Viren’s face, obvious even in the dim light.

However his initial embarrassment at the teasing quickly faded, and Viren pointedly switched to the business mode, as he often did. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make my way to either at the moment.”

Harrow considered it for a second, and then, unable to suppress the impulse, picked Viren up.

Viren yelped, and then slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Harrow, what the hell are you doing,” he hissed angrily.

“Helping,” Harrow made his way across the corridor, back to Viren’s office. At first, he managed rather easily, but soon realized that he might not make it.

“You are heavier than I remember,” Harrow said pausing before the last spiral staircase, leading up the Mage tower.

“No one asked you to carry me,” Viren said stiffly, “Nor did you ask whether I would appreciate such treatment.”

“One smart man once told me that it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get a permission.”

Viren just scoffed. “That ‘smart man’ would like to know if there is any particular reason you’re stalling.”

“Well, reason is I want to get you up there, but I doubt I can make it up the stairs without crashing and killing us both, and yet I couldn’t just say so, since I’ve already committed to the cause.”

“That seems to be a common occurrence with you, Your Highness,” Viren said. “In that case, could you please unhand me.”

Harrow set him down onto the floor carefully. “Is your leg feeling any better?”

“It does, but my dignity has been compromised.”

“I’m sure your dignity could stand a little compromising every now and then,” Harrow said, making Viren snicker. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it up the stairs by yourself?”

“Yes, with my-” Viren paused abruptly, holding up a hand with a bottle.

“Your?”

“I left my staff in the kitchen.”

They looked at each other, the absurdity of their situation dawning on them, and finally Harrow started laughing. Viren held out for about two seconds longer before joining in, a contagious symphony of a shared mirth making them laugh loud and clear, with tears in their eyes and lightness in their chest.

Finally, as they calmed down Harrow sat at the bottom of the stairs. He looked at Viren, who held his hands up to his face in a familiar but almost forgotten fashion.

“My cheeks hurt,” Viren said, sitting down next to Harrow.

Harrow felt slightly giddy. Seeing Viren like that, expression unguarded and posture relaxed was a luxury he missed sorely.

“My condolences for your cheeks,” Harrow said with a soft smile.

“My condolences for your back,” Viren said, “I have a suspicion you will sorely regret your strongman act in the morning.”

“That just means I need to practice carrying you bridal style some more,” Harrow said bumping Viren’s shoulder with his own.

“Surely that would be groomal style,” Viren replied recipriciating the gesture.

“It would, if you’d only agreed.”

“Ugh,” Viren said, his expression darkening, “You said that the dinner was a peace offering.”

“I lied,” Harrow said simply.

Viren raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” Harrow continued, “I obviously can’t make you.” Harrow looked away, trying to find the right words, “But at the same time, I’m not sure I can let it go, until you tell me the real reason you’re so against it.”

Viren sighed. “And I’m sure I’m not in the right condition to tell you.”

“Some more wine perhaps?” Harrow asked, lifting their accidental kitchen trophy.

“I doubt any amount of wine would really cut it,” said Viren smiling sadly.

“It’s worth a try,” Harrow said trying to pull out the cork. After a bit of a struggle, the cork gave in to the royal teeth and surrendered the hostage spirits.

Harrow sniffed it and tried some. “I think it’s the same as we had before,” He held the bottle out.

Viren took a long-suffering look, but accepted the bottle. “Mind-altering substances, here we go,” and took a swig from the bottle.

“So, how is it, do you feel compelled to share your darkest secrets yet?”

“Hmm, let me think,” Viren paused for a moment thinking, ”Once when I was fourteen I spilled some ink all over a priceless tome and then was too scared to tell the librarian, so I stole and hid it. I still have it in my posession, and I still haven’t found a way to undo the damage.” He drank some more and passed the bottle back to Harrow.

“You didn’t immediately rush to save a precious foliant? That sounds unlike you.” Harrow held the bottle for a moment thinking about how Viren’s lips just touched it. He took a tentative sip.

“It was an illustrated book,” Viren hid his face in hands and mumbled, “About sex.”

Harrow stared at him. “Spilled some ink, huh.”

Viren shook his head. “It was just ink! However, I am not obligated to disclose what I was doing when it happened.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Harrow tried to imagine Viren bent over a leather-bound tome in the library. He didn’t even think there were proper books about sex - it always seemed to him like a domain of practice, rather than theory. If he knew it back then, he’d visit the library more often.

He took a big swig from the bottle. “Perhaps, I should share one of mine? It only seems fair.”

Viren looked at him curiously, but said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s-” Harrow passed Viren the bottle and leaned back onto the stairs. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Just. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I will try to keep an open mind, but I somehow doubt you could do worse than losing an invaluable relic to the throes of teenage passion,” Viren winced.

“Suppose there’s only one way to find out.”


	4. Chapter 4

Harrow started. “So, about, uh, three years ago? I had a dream.”

“A dream, really? I’ve just poured out my most embarrassing secret here,” Viren scolded him.

“Oh, the dream is just a prelude,” Harrow took a deep breath and continued, ”Most of the dream was actually rather boring. We stayed at the Banther lodge, hunting. Nothing too unusual, the snow, the forest, a hunting party. But then a enormous deer - the king of the forest - crossed our way.”

Harrow’s sight grew distant, but more focused, and his words rang with a new depth. “A glorious beast, white all over, from the tips of its hooves to the points of its horns. In the heat of the pursuit we lost the rest of the company in the snowstorm, leaving just the two of us tracking it together. Finally we managed to corner it. I made a move to spear it, but the creature was too powerful, even wounded it charged at you.”

”I thought you were dead for sure, its sharp horns aiming like daggers at your chest, but then I saw you.” Harrow spoke, eyes closed, voice amplified by the stone walls of the corridor. ”It’s almost like you’ve grown taller, skin rough like a shedding snake, and eyes huge and black.”

Viren made an alarmed, troubled noise, but Harrow didn’t seem to notice.

“And then you leapt at it. In seconds it was over. The beast fell, a huge chunk of its neck missing, blood pouring down the white fur and snow around it. You turned towards me, lips bloody red, and smiled. It was your usual, quiet smile, but I knew that your mouth was full of sharp pointed teeth. I walked mesmerized towards you, unable to speak, unable to stop. You bowed and knelt, but even so you towered over me. As I stood before you I realized that I was no longer afraid. You, your very being still rang with raw power. It was terrifying, but also beautiful, like a wild beast. Or a storm.”

“And then you reached out, brushing your clawed hands against my face as gently as a feather. Just so.” Harrow said, lifting his hand towards Viren’s face, a ghost of a touch along the cheekbone, so gentle one could confuse it with a draft was it not for its warmth. ”And you leaned in, blood dripping down your chin and kissed me deep and hard, pulling me in and stealing my breath. And then I woke up.”

A small crease formed between Viren’s eyebrows, his expression hesitant. He blinked, as Harrow pulled away.

An uneasy pregnant silence spread between them, as the bell of the clock tower rang three times.

Eventually, Viren spoke, not looking at Harrow. “You said that the dream was just a prelude.”

Harrow laid back onto the cold stairs, arm splayed on top of his face.

“I hoped you wouldn’t ask.” Harrow paused, giving Viren a chance bail, but the mage burrowed into him with his sharp grey eyes.

Harrow sighed. “I told Sarai about it. And we ended up going to the palace washroom and hmngrrrrr,” said Harrow as his hand slid over his mouth almost as if by its own volition.

“What was that, your Highness? I don’t think I speak ‘hmngrr’,” said Viren, clearly amused by Harrow’s reluctance.

Finally, Harrow spoke, uninterrupted by semi-sentient limbs. “Sarai and I, we went into the palace washroom and stole one of your doublets.”

Viren blinked, surprised. “A clean one, I hope.”

“Not for long.”

Viren furrowed his brows in confusion. “Oh,” he said, as understanding dawned on him. And again. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harrow weakly.

“Saints. I just-” Viren shook his head. “And here I was thinking the wash staff ruined the embroidery and decided to get rid of the evidence.”

Viren held up the bottle, long forgotten during the confession, examined it, and then downed the last of the wine. “So,” he said, “Which one of you-” he made a non-committal rolling gesture along his torso.

“Both. But mostly her, because it started cracking at the seams when I wore it,” he paused. “It also looked nicer on her.”

“I, obviously, wouldn’t be able to compare, but if you so desired...”

“Viren, please, have mercy.”

Viren tapped his lips with his index finger. “I will think about it, but no promises,” he said stretching on the stairs next to Harrow.

Harrow turned towards him with expression carefully guarded. “Not that I’m not grateful, but I kind of expected a stronger reaction from you, about all of this.”

Viren shrugged. “I am not going to deny that it’s pretty odd. But at the same time, I did urge you to share the weird and embarrassing, and you simply did as requested.”

“Plus,” Viren added after a bit of consideration, “Our control over the carnal desires is at best limited. As long as no one gets hurt, there’s no crime in it.”

“We literally stole your doublet,” said Harrow raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, but it’s hardly my only one? If you stole a poor man’s last shirt then sure. It is a shame about the embroidery, but it’s not much different from me ruining the craft of the ancient scribes.”

“It is different in that it’s  _ your _ doublet,” said Harrow quietly.

“My doublet?” asked Viren, “I don’t understand. Do you mean to say that it would be different if it was, I don’t even know, Opeli’s shawl?”

“Saints, Viren. Please, don’t mention Opeli in that context. I’m pretty sure I fear her more than the Holy Triumvirate itself.”

“Is it because she’s real?” asked Viren.

“Maybe.” Harrow lifted his eyes towards the ceiling. “It’s a shame we’re stuck inside, would be good to see the stars.”

Viren narrowed his eyes. “Please, Your Highness, stay focused. You never answered what was so special about it being my doublet.”

“Ah. I don’t- Well.” Harrow’s expression darkened. “After I had the dream, I told her about it. But her first proposition was to ask, rather than to steal.”

Viren’s eyes widened, his breath hitched.

Harrow pressed on. “She said, that we could invite you into our bed, if that was what I wanted.”

Viren sat up, shoulders tense. Harrow followed the suit.

Harrow continued. “I don’t even know why I refused. And now I’m-”

“Harrow, please-”

“I’m asking you of all people to marry me. To share my life and my-”

“Harrow, stop talking!” Viren hissed. 

“Viren- what?” Harrow turned towards him.

Viren pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Harrow, I- this is too much. If you’re telling me this to get me to agree to your crazy idea-”

“What? No! I’m telling you this because you are my best friend! You are special to me! Sarai knew and respected that, and she would approve! I just don’t understand why won’t you-”

“Because I failed! Because being by your side, even if only out of duty, is a gift I do not deserve!” Viren said trembling. “I harbor no illusions about my ability to make you happy, and I just can’t let you, not when it’s all my fault!”

“Your fault?” Harrow said incredulously. ”Viren, you did everything you could! You gave me all the advice and I refused to listen to you, and even more so, took offence at the truth. Of all the people it should have been me rushing to save you, not her! I put my wounded pride before the interests of my kingdom and I paid a terrible price.”

They stood at the bottom of the stairs, by necessity close, their eyes glistening in the dim light.

Finally Viren turned away. ”We should finish.” He turned heading up the stairs, visibly shaking with effort.

Harrow caught his free arm and put it over his neck almost automatically. His own hands settled easily on Viren’s waist. Their unsteady climb to the top went in a complete silence.

At the door to Viren’s room they pulled apart, Viren clutching at the handle and Harrow standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor.

At the very last moment, when Viren was about to disappear inside, Harrow said, “You’re right.”

Viren turned towards him surprised.

“You said you doubt you can make me happy. And that’s true, not in the sense in which one seeks happiness in marriage anyway. But, honestly, I doubt anyone could make me feel that way again.” Harrow paused considering. “But you are wrong in that you do make me happy. You are my best friend, and talking to you tonight - I haven’t felt this alive in a long while.”

“Harrow, I-”

“No, please, let me finish.” Harrow held out his hand and continued. “What I am trying to say, is that happiness is complicated. But at the very core it’s also very simple. There is no virtue, nor any benefit in denying yourself happiness for any reason, but especially so out of misplaced sense of guilt.”

“Harrow, I-” Viren rubbed his face. “I will think about it. But now it’s late. Goodnight, Your Highness.”

“Goodnight, Viren.”


	5. Chapter 5

It started as it usually did, with the heat rising from the sharp lifeless stone, making him sweat even in his thin padded armor. He never understood how did the fighters tolerated the constant dull weight and the unavoidable temperature swings, especially so close to the Breach. But soon the soft breeze, which would normally bring relief, rose, filling his mind and body with dread.

He rushed forward, moving to the front of the procession at snail’s pace, always trying to warn them, to win some time before the storm hit.

No matter how he begged, the queens still insisted on staying, and he had no choice but to follow them, pulled by invisible strings to what he knew was certain doom.

Many a time he would upturn his pouch, and look for anything that could help him, any sort of creative solution, a forgotten trump card which could tip the balance. But no matter how he strained, the damn ball simply found its way into his hand, and the world stood suspended, choking with ozone filled air until he followed his cue and played his part.

“Aspiro frigis!” he would shout at the top of his lungs, suspended power dancing at the tips of his fingers, and then swirling, growing, enclosing the monster’s maw with thick transparent crust. Just for a moment, he would almost believe that they have a chance. But no matter how much he strained his throat, shouting, waving for them to go, the queens still proceeded with their attack, and the ice would crack with a deafening crunch, as he stood, unable to do anything, helplessly watching as the monster crushed them in a single swipe of the tail.

And then inevitably, Sarai would appear seemingly out of nowhere, offering him her hand and easily pulling him up. She would shut down his attempts at showing gratitude, urging her mare to outrace the lightning itself. And she would almost succeed. Almost.

Only today it wasn’t Sarai.

This time he was unceremoniously pulled into the saddle in one swift powerful motion, the air knocked out of him as he found himself pressed against a different set of armor, emblazoned with royal burgundy instead of the usual blue of the border forces.

Harrow shouted, “Hold on tight!” as he spurred his horse into a gallop.

“What are you doing here!”

“Saving your ass, what else?”

This was all wrong-

“You’re not meant to be here! Let me go!” Viren pushed Harrow off, struggling to do so despite how just moments ago every leap of the horse came with danger of a free flight for its passengers.

“Are you crazy?! What are you doing??” Harrow’s hands were wrapped around him tightly, their faces so close that all Viren can see is the lush green of his eyes.

But then the strike fell. The splitting pain took residence in his leg, turning every move into agony, but by far the worst was seeing Harrow sprawled on the unforgiving stone, gasping for breath, stretching his arm towards him.

Viren crawled to him, never fast enough, forever useless to do anything, especially so now.

By the time Viren reached him, Harrow’s voice had trailed into a whisper, so that all he managed to hear was “Goodnight, Viren”, before his breath stilled.

“No, Harrow, no,” his vision blurred, his hands going straight through the outstretched arm, as the body crumpled into dust, blown away by the ruthless unforgiving wind.

“And so he’s dead,” said one of the three figures towering above him matter-of-factly. “Good job, Viren.”

“I didn’t want this! Please-”

He looked up at them, three unapproachable silhouettes, holding the sword, the shield, and the scythe, the Holy Triumvirate, the Ladies of Fate.

The tallest figure came closer to him and tilted her head to the side, as if examining him through her blindfold.

“He could never be happy with you, you know. Nobody can,” she said thoughtfully, “Not even yourself.”

An ugly keening noise tore through him, spilling from his mouth.

“A pitiful creature, are you not? And yet he offers you his companionship, because somehow he thinks you’re worth it.”

Viren shook his head, unable to look at her.

“I could offer you a deal-” she said, setting her scales in front of him. “Would you trade your life for hers? Would you pay the price for his happiness?”

He realized that he was standing in one of the dishes, moving up and down as the scales were making their decision. On the other dish stood Harrow, and his children, looking at him apprehensively.

But as their dish swung down, the words painfully, jaggedly tore away from Viren’s lips, “No! Please, I have children!”

The swaying stopped, and he once again was under the scrutiny of the figures.

“Ah, so you’re a coward,” said the first one.

“All of us had kids,” joined the second one.

“And now all of us are dead,” finished the third one.

They approached him, all together.

“We are dead, what makes you better, Viren?”

“We will never see our Aanya grow,” said the Duren queens, lowering the shield and the scythe.

“And I won’t see my boys,” said Sarai, lifting the blindfold to look at him with her thoughtful brown eyes. “The only face Ezran would know of me is my statue. It’s not even a good statue.”

“I tried everything! I don’t know what to do! Please, tell me what to do,” his voice was trembling.

They came ever closer, grabbing at him, shaking him.

“You gave a promise”, said Sarai, “You swore to me that you will care for them-”

Her last words resonated with an echo, as she shook his shoulder, strongly and more urgently, until he opened his eyes and saw a small face in a halo of ruffled white hair.

“Dad? Dad, are you okay?”

He was in his bedroom, with Soren, sitting on the edge of his bed, holding onto a short wooden sword he was using for practice.

“I- I am alright, thank you, Soren. Just a bad dream.” 

“A bad dream?” His nine year old son climbed onto the bed, wrapping himself in the covers. “What was it about? A giant? Or- or a dragon?”

“No, Soren, just. Doing the laundry. You know, as adults do.”

“Dad, you never do the laundry - the palace has the wash staff.”

“I never do the laundry because I’m terrible at it. Pure nightmare fuel.”

“Hmm, if it is so, then I shall protect you! I will keep guard, such that you can sleep undisturbed, Father.” Soren positioned himself at his side, carefully tucking his wooden sword next to him. Just recently he used to do so with his teddy bear, but he gave it to Claudia, saying she needed it more. 

“Soren, you can’t always sleep in my bed-”

“Soren is sleeping in your bed?! That’s not fair!” Claudia climbed in on the other site, and hosted her bear like a flag on the conquered land. “Then I am also going to sleep in your bed!”

Viren just sighed. “Fine! But only if you both promise-”

“YAY!” they shouted in unison.

“... if you both promise to be quiet.”

The two of them, sensing danger, instantly fell onto the pillows, closed their eyes, and started loudly snoring.

“You will be the death of me,” Viren said, hoping that he can get at least two more hours of uninterrupted sleep, before one of them inevitably will get hungry or bored. “Sleep well, little ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for indulgent symbolic dreams, i swear it's the last of that for some time now  
> also, i bumped up the rating to explicit and updated the tags, because i have some plans for upcoming chapters >:3c  
> thank you everyone for you kind comments, i'm so very glad you are enjoying this story c':


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok heads up, some nsfw content ahead, so proceed with discretion

After having little sleep with their late night adventures, Harrow felt somewhat smudged, like an undried ink on a piece of parchment. Between the petitioners, the council, and spending the last two solid hours wrestling a six and a soon two year old into bed, it felt good to just sag into the chair close to the fireplace and think about maybe picking up a well dusted book from under his bed. Viren suggested it to him a while ago, and Harrow really was intent on reading it, but so far he didn’t manage to get past the first couple pages, which, with their flowery language, served as good as any sleeping potion. It was a slow comforting thought, without much bite in it. He doubted he’d actually do it, but it was pleasant to think that he could, if he wanted.

Harrow was startled out of his dozy thoughts by a loud knocking at the door. After a brief moment the door opened revealing Viren, brushing past the guards. Viren was the only person who disregarded the official protocol and could barge into Harrow’s room at any time of the day. Harrow never quite understood this, given that in all other cases Viren held himself very officially, despite Harrow’s attempts to get him to loosen up.

“Your Highness,” Viren said with a small bow.

“Lord Viren,” Harrow said, “Did something happen? It’s pretty late for a courtesy visit.”

“Oh, I- No. My apologies, sire.” Viren looked away, “I thought about what you said yesterday.”

Harrow raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I realized that I was being selfish, by refusing you.”

“Selfish? Viren, this is a literal opposite of what I told you.”

Viren closed his eyes. “No, Harrow. I made up my mind. I would marry you-”

“Well, this is great news.”

“Please, I haven’t finished talking.” Viren continued, “I would marry you, but first, I need to show you something. If you still want this marriage after, so be it. And if you don’t, then I will not hold it against you.”

“Show me? Where are we going?”

“We don’t need to go anywhere.“

Viren took a deep breath, giving Harrow a long desperate look. He then raised a hand to his face and swiped it down in a slow measured motion.

Harrow watched mesmerized as Viren’s skin started to darken, shadows spreading from across his face, white appearing like frost in his hair and beard. When Viren opened his eyes, they had this odd oily quality to them, not quite the same pitch black as when he was using dark magic, but not normal human eyes either.

As the transformation finished, Harrow realized that he’s been clutching onto the arms of his chair and let them go. The eery likeness of Viren’s appearance to the monstrous looming form from his old nightmare, almost made Harrow flinch.

“What-” Harrow shook his head. “What is that?”

“This is how I really look.”

“And how long has this been the case?”

“For about,” Viren paused thinking. “A year?”

“A year,” Harrow repeated. “So about when-”

“After I cast a spell using magma golem’s heart. Though some of it appeared earlier, but never quite like that.”

Harrow got up from his chair, coming closer. The marks looked a lot like a lightning strike, or perhaps a cracked mirror, shadows snaking under Viren’s skin.

“You said that you felt sick after the spell,” Harrow said, remembering.  “I thought that was because of your leg.”

“To be fair, my leg didn’t exactly help.”

“May I-,” Harrow’s throat was sore, as he spoke “May I touch you?”

Viren nodded slowly.

The first contact came as a shock. Harrow didn’t know what he expected, but Viren’s hand felt smooth and normal, despite the appearance. Harrow softly brushed his thumb over the dark lines. They went deeper inside of the sleeve, and when Harrow followed, tracing the skin of mage’s wrist, he heard Viren inhale sharply.

Harrow let go of Viren’s hand and said, “Why didn’t you say anything! I would-”

“You would let hundred thousand people die because your friend’s skin started to look icky? No, I’m not sorry for that,” Viren said indignantly.

These words prompted something dark in Harrow, and for a moment he fell quiet, taking deep breaths. Viren’s face looked like an impenetrable mask, and that made Harrow want to shatter Viren’s composure and slap some sense into him. Before the words fully registered in his mind, he said “I want to see you whole.”

“I beg pardon?”

“I want you to undress,” Harrow said, his voice ringing dangerously with steel.

Viren blinked.

Harrow half expected protests, but after a moment’s hesitation Viren slowly lifted his arms and unclasped his capelet. He undid his double belts, setting the pouch carefully on the table, as if it had snakes in it. Maybe it did.

He then began undoing the numerous buttons on his sleeves. Usually invisible under the fold of fabric, they glistened, catching light from the fireplace. The progress was slow but unwavering, and soon the sleeve was open revealing a white shirt underneath. Similarly he tried to handle the other hand, but the buttons were slipping out of his grasp.

Viren struggled with it fruitlessly, until Harrow asked, “Let me?”

Viren stretched his arm towards him. This close, Viren’s expression was significantly less unreadable, with a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, and a dusty color spreading on his cheeks, which Harrow realized was a blush.

Harrow unbuttoned the right sleeve, feeling the silky texture of the undershirt inside.

“Thank you,” said Viren quietly, lowering his head.

He undid the front buttons of his doublet one by one, and took it off exposing a thin almost transparent white undershirt. The patches of sweat under arms and on his back made the shirt cling to his skin. Eventually, after undoing the laces, he pulled it off as well, revealing his chest and more of the dark marks.

Viren hesitated at the pants laces, as if waiting for Harrow to stop him. No such thing happened. Almost as an afterthought he leaned onto the chair and pulled off his boots. After shaking off the pants he paused.

“Those too?” Viren said, hands reluctantly hovering over his undergarments.

“Yes.”

He awkwardly fumbled with the undergarments, body not quite turned away, as if wanting privacy, but not being able to turn his back to Harrow. Finally, after hanging them with the rest of the clothes on the chair, Viren stood before him entirely naked.

His indignant attitude was now gone. His shoulders slouched ever so slightly, arms covered in goosebumps.

Harrow walked around Viren, examining him. The corruption spread from the middle of Viren’s chest, and snaked its way to Viren’s head and limbs. Sometimes it interrupted, seemingly diving deep into his body, but then continued couple of inches later. Dark purple, like a bruise, the marks were especially obvious with the dusting of white hair over them.

“Kneel.”

The command took Viren by surprise. His eyes widened, forcing him half a step back. A tense pause stretched awkwardly over them, but eventually Viren yielded. He held onto the chair as he obediently bent his knees and lowered himself onto the stone floor.

As much as he tried, Harrow was unable not to notice the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, the dusty not quite blush on his corpse-like face, the curve of his manhood jutting out.

Harrow took a step forward.

“Look at me.”

Viren reluctantly lifted his eyes from impossibly entertaining stone floor to Harrow’s face. The oily blackness in his eyes spread, blown wide past where the pupils should go.

“Open your mouth.”

Viren swallowed.

He didn’t balk as Harrow’s hand settled on the side of his face, his thumb pushing down onto the lower lip, prompting it open.

Inside were two rows of blunt perfectly human teeth.

Harrow pulled away from Viren, sagging on the edge of the table, running his hands over his face.

“I am,” Harrow said, “very angry right now.” 

“I am sorry.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Oh?” Viren looked at him, confusion clear in his alien eyes.

“I’m angry with myself. I should have known better with you.”

***

Harrow let Viren go. First, awkwardly, he helped him to his feet, realising too late that he forgot entirely about Viren’s bad leg. And then he buttoned the right sleeve, wondering how did Viren handle that every day. Neither of them could look each other in the face through the exchange.

A part of him felt angry with himself, with how he took Viren for granted, pushing him towards this, towards losing his humanity. But another, as much as he wanted to suppress it, was angry with Viren, for thinking it insignificant, for not giving Harrow a choice in the matter, and for being absolutely right in assuming that Harrow would not chose this if he’d known.

Harrow turned yet again on his bed. His clothes were sticky with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, making him itch. His calm from earlier was gone, lost in a confused whirlwind of inner arguments.

He pulled off his nightshirt, thinking back about the exchange, about that proud “I’m not sorry”. It was wrong, how it made him want to hurt Viren, shake him until he understood. But most of all it was wrong that Viren didn’t stop him, that he didn’t fight back.

Harrow did manage to let Viren go, but deep inside he knew that he wanted to keep going, to see how far he can push Viren before he protests. If he protests.

The thought that Viren would submit to him fully, letting Harrow do as he pleased was titillating. Harrow felt himself growing hard at the thought.  _ Would Viren have protested if I ordered him to undo my own laces? If I demanded that he pleasured me with his mouth? _

He knew that he was overstepping, that he assumed  too much, but he couldn’t stop. Harrow pushed his pants down, wrapping his hand around his cock. _ Viren on his knees, looking up, opening his mouth, taking me in. _ It had been a while since Harrow indulged himself like that.  _ Grabbing, pulling Viren by his hair. Making him gasp.  _ Harrow was close, his movements frantic, almost violent.  _ Pushing deeper, making Viren choke, his eyes welling with tears, hands trying to push away. _ Harrow spilled onto the bed sheets. Momentary bliss wiped the thoughts of right and wrong from his mind, only leaving a mental image of a tense and vulnerable Viren on his knees in front of him, before a wave of tiredness pulled him under into a dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Mornings were rarely pleasant for Harrow, and today was not an exception. His arms stretched above his head, went cold and numb. The fire in the hearth extinguished during the night, and each breath hung ghostly in the air.

As he shifted, rubbing his arms, trying to get the blood running, a white stain on the bedsheets caught his eye. The memory of last night flooded his mind with guilt and disgust, snapping him wide awake.

He got up, bracing himself for the inevitably chilly floors, and threw the covers over the stain. There was no need to leave it to be observed by any chance visitors. Especially Viren. Harrow doubted Viren would show up to see him for any personal reasons after what happened yesterday, but political emergencies wouldn’t wait for them to sort out their differences.

He walked over and pulled open the curtains, letting the dim light of late autumn flood the room. Surprisingly, the morning was far brighter than he expected. The balcony, the courtyard beyond, and the castle towers were all covered in snow. 

He pushed open the balcony door and just stood there, breathing in the fresh air, and taking in the scene before him.

Last year, after the magma golem, after the spell and the funeral, he craved a sense of normality, for the order of things to get him through the motions of the day. A frustrating, but in hindsight unsurprising blow to that order came from the weather. The snow never settled. After two weeks of what people called The Short Winter, sky seemingly ran out of wet clumpy snowflakes, which melted as soon as they touched the ground, and nature rushed into a vivid sunny spring in mid January. It was beautiful and calm, and looking at it made Harrow sick. It felt wrong and unfair that the weather would be this warm and gentle when his heart felt like a glacier crumbling to pieces.

But today, seeing the snow fall slowly, wrapping the world in its pristine blanket, he finally felt at peace. The winter had come, and it felt like home.

***

During the breakfast Harrow kept an eye on Ezran’s creative spoon maneuvers with the porridge, as he was listening to Callum’s excited if somewhat unorderly retelling of a fairy tale. Or five. No doubt, Claudia read a book to the four of them yesterday evening.

Soren was older, but the letters just didn’t seem to come together for him. Harrow witnessed Viren’s schooling attempts, which despite the best efforts of them both ended up with tears on Soren’s part and helpless frustration on his father’s. Eventually, Viren gave up on the books and focused on teaching the boy math. Soren was still anxious around the quill and paper, but he happily ran around the castle, counting all the guards and steps and anything in amounts higher than two.

Harrow thought that he would need to start reading lessons with Callum soon. Between the boy’s friendship with Claudia, who much like her father at that age seemed to always have a book with her, and Callum’s doodles beginning to look more and more like letters he was trying to imitate, it seemed like a good time.

Soren and Claudia were good kids, and it was delightful to see their friendship with Callum and baby Ezran develop. Ezran was extremely shy around most people, but less so around them. A thought suddenly crossed his mind, that if Viren and him were to go ahead with the wedding, then their children would all become siblings. Instead of just being his best friend’s children, Soren and Claudia would now be his as well.

Harrow always knew that he would have to have children. The responsibility of the only heir to produce progeny was crystal clear, but until he met Sarai and Callum, Harrow rarely thought of children as something other but duty. Baby Ezran came about to be troublesome delight, and Harrow tried to make time for the boys whenever he could in his busy royal schedule. The thought that he would now be a father of four, doubling the amount of children he had, was both amusing and alarming.

Perhaps they could have breakfasts all together. After Sarai died their family meals always lacked some spark; Amaya visited the capital sporadically, Callum only recently started to open up, and Ezran was still working his way towards proper human words through various animal like noises.

Harrow liked the idea of having Soren and Claudia here with them, and of course Viren too. Harrow wondered when was the last time he saw Viren outside of his formal dress.  _ Last night, you idiot _ , whispered a traitorous voice in the back of his mind.

Viren said he would agree to the wedding if Harrow still wanted it, but after what happened last night... Harrow knew that what he did was not right, but he didn’t know what was. He craved clarity, but all he had was a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

In the end, as he intercepted Ezran, who was making a beeline across the table towards the plate with the jelly tarts, Harrow decided that the best course of action would be to face the consequences of his actions head on, whatever they might be.

***

“Take that, magma golem!” Claudia’s aim was somewhat off, but she hurled her snowballs at her father with a lot of enthusiasm.

“For Katolis!” Soren, torn between the appeal of using melee or ranged weapon, charged at Viren with his wooden sword in one hand and a snowball in another.

His attack was clearly successful, as the ‘magma golem’ collapsed, sword firmly tucked between the arm and the torso. Both warriors rushed towards him, running around and performing a victory dance.

Harrow approached them, sad at having to interrupt their play, and at seeing how Viren tensed upon seeing him.

“That was an admirable work, soldiers!”

“Thank you, Your Highness!” said Claudia and bowed, slightly smacking her brother, who hastily bowed as well, clutching his wooden sword to his chest.

“As a thanks for your service, I award you these medals,” Harrow handed each of them a jelly tart he managed to salvage from the breakfast.

“Thank you!” They bowed again, awed at the gift.

“Now, if you don’t mind, may I borrow your father for a bit.”

They nodded, distracted by the sweets, and rushed away.

Harrow approached Viren, and stretched an arm offering to help him up. Viren took it, hand cold, despite the blush spread across his face because of the battle.

“Your Highness,” Viren greeted him, ”My apologies for this, they have a very vivid imagination.”

“There’s no need to apologise. This was… much more enjoyable then the real thing.”

“Indeed,” Viren smiled softly, looking at his kids, who were tearing apart a ‘magma titan heart’ which was leaking strawberry jelly all over their hands.

They made their way to the bench in the corner of the courtyard.

“You said you wanted to talk to me?” said Viren, as they sat down.

“I, uh, yes,” Harrow felt his heart sinking. There it was. “I want to apologize.”

Viren looked at him surprised.

“I’m sorry. For yesterday. It was not right, how I reacted, how I treated you.” Harrow took a deep breath. “You said that, if I, knowing this, still wanted to proceed, then you would... But if you changed your mind after yesterday-”

“Harrow,” Viren paused, “To be honest, I expected worse.”

Harrow blinked, thinking back to the kneeling figure before him, and about a shameful stain on his bedsheet. “Worse?”

“Well, yes?” Viren looked away. “I wondered if you’d still want to talk to me. If you’d still see me as a human.”

An awkward pause fell between them.

“Is that really what you expected?” Harrow frowned.

“Harrow, please, try and see the big picture.” Viren rubbed his temples. ”It’s not about you. It’s just- nobody likes dark magic.”

“You do.”

Viren sighed. “Yes, I do. A few of my peers do. You don’t.”

Harrow half-shrugged. He knew that there were people who hated dark magic, fanatics who hunted down and executed dark mages, called them monsters. They believed that exterminating the dark magic would somehow make Xadia embrace humanity. Harrow found it absurd, but it was hard to deny that dark magic was unsettling. And as he learned yesterday, not without a reason.

“Dark magic is a fascinating, complex subject,” Viren said. ”And we don’t understand even a quarter of it. But at the same time it’s kind of like... Like brawling.”

“Brawling?”

“Well, imagine if you have never been taught how to fight. Imagine seeing it for the first time. It would just look like people are hurting each other for no reason.” Viren gestured at Soren and Claudia who were mock fencing, Soren with his sword and Claudia with a long curved stick she had found.

“I suppose,” nodded Harrow.

“But if you know what’s going on, if you are aware that it’s a skill, which requires training, then you will see people practicing their craft to become stronger, and then you can appreciate it. Problem is, most see it as something entirely alien.”

Explanation made sense, but still didn’t sit right with Harrow. Sure, there was danger in the fight, and sure, it required skill and training, but one only got hurt as a result of enemies’ intent, or as an accident, not as an elaborate gesture of self harm.

“I really don’t know, Viren,” Harrow said.  _ It’s a shortcut _ rang in his head with an echo. “Sarai never approved of the golem plan.”

“I knew she disagreed, but- she came with us to hunt it down?”

“She did. She saw it as her duty, to be by my side.” Harrow said. “But she never liked it, she thought that dark magic was a shortcut.”

“A shortcut?” Viren narrowed his eyes.

“Yes! Because we were killing a sentient creature, someone who could have a family-”

Viren tilted his head a bit. “Is that what she told you?”

Harrow frowned. “How do you mean?”

“That just- doesn’t seem right to me.” Viren looked at his hands. “Sarai was an exceptional woman. She had a sharp inquisitive mind, and she wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Viren paused, collecting his thoughts.

“She knew a lot about elven magic, growing up near the Breach. And at some point she asked whether I could show her some basics of the dark magic.”

“She did?”

“Yes. But I refused. She was pregnant with prince Ezran at the time, and there are some- terrible complications.. I showed her the books, and my own… face. Admittedly it wasn’t quite as changed back then as it is now.”

“You mean to say, that Sarai knew, that the spell would come with a price to you?”

Viren wrapped his arms around himself, not looking at Harrow. A  heavy silence stretched between them.

Sarai often said that the best way to make friends is to ask the person to tell you about their passion. And as unexpected as it was to Harrow, Sarai and Viren were friends. Harrow would occasionally find the two of them over a game of chess, or chatting about some book they read. Sarai was very easy to be friends with, quite the opposite of Viren, for whom Harrow was one and only friend for a very, very long time. Harrow almost felt jealous at seeing Sarai make friends with Viren with the same ease she seemed to be able to charm everyone. And Viren’s passion undeniably was dark magic.

“She said that you wouldn’t agree to the plan otherwise,” Viren said quietly.

“She was right. She was always right.” Harrow rubbed his face, thinking. “I just don’t understand. How did everything went so wrong. All I’m trying to do is to be a just king, like my father taught me.”

“My mother often said that,” Viren offered, “If you are trying to please you father than what are you even doing with your life.”

“Mhm, and what did she say about pleasing your mother?” Harrow asked.

“Well, mother knows best, of course.”

“Of course.”

Harrow looked at Viren’s posture, and his hands, which were slowly turning blue, despite his awkward attempts to tuck them into the narrow sleeves of his light winter jacket. “Are you cold?”

“It’s alright.”

“That doesn’t look alright to me,” Harrow said, moving closer, wrapping his fur cloak around the two of them, and taking one of Viren’s hands in his own.

It was icy cold, and slowly turning a light shade of blue, and Harrow’s mind turned back to the past evening, and the way he held Viren’s hand then.

“How do you look like this?” Harrow asked.

“You mean normal?”

“Not scarred with dark magic, yes,” Harrow said, running his thumb over Viren’s knuckles.

“A minor illusion charm. Usually requires renewing about once a week or so. I learned to cultivate a particular species of butterfly to make it sustainable.”

“You could just stop hiding it,” Harrow said, ”It’s a scar like any other, and you got it by saving people’s lives, they should learn to accept it.”

“Harrow, don’t be naive.” Viren replied. “We have literal witch hunters roaming the country, killing dark mages, saying they are monsters. Now imagine if the king's advisor would show in public looking like one.”

“What if it was as a royal consort.”

Viren just rolled his eyes. “That’s gonna be popular with people, I’m sure. They already see me as a crooked advisor who enchanted the king with some dark magic wiles.”

“Dark magic wiles,” Harrow raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Harrow, they think we’re fucking, is that really what you wanted me to say,” hissed Viren, his blush from earlier returning onto his face.

“Wait, really,” Harrow said, blinking. “But that’s not true.”

“When did it ever stop people from gossiping.”

“Hmmm,” a sudden mischievous thought lit up in Harrow’s mind, and he started unbuttoning the top of his doublet.

Viren looked at him confused.

“Well in this case,” Harrow said, pulling the string with a golden circlet off of his neck, and sliding from the bench onto the fresh snow, “I must make you an honest man.”

“Harrow, what are you doing,” said Viren, trying to pull him up by the hand he was still holding.

Harrow looked at him calmly, and squeezed his hand gently, which made Viren stop and freeze.

Harrow stretched out his other hand, showcasing a simple golden ring with a string on it. Years ago, he meticulously planned his proposal to Sarai, ordered a beautiful ornate ring with a shining red stone on it, rehearsed his speech for hours before finally making his move. The ring ended up being too small. Nevertheless, Sarai said yes, on the condition that he won’t make her wear any rings (especially any ostentatious ones), as those never survived her pike practice. They did get a set of simple gold rings, which they wore on the official occasions. This one was hers. Harrow may not have had the most perfect idea of what his wife had thought about dark magic, but in this case he was sure, that she wouldn’t mind.

“Viren, will you marry me?”

The pause felt infinitely long, between Viren biting his lower lip and looking at Harrow with a tense desperate expression.

“I, uh- Yes,” Viren said, breathlessly. 

“Thank you,” Harrow said with a soft smile.

He carefully slid the ring onto Viren’s ring finger. It was slightly too wide for him, but somehow it felt just right.


End file.
